


my enemy, please stay close to me

by addandsubtract



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The only reason I still have your favor, my prince, is that I don’t let you win,” Robb says, with a grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my enemy, please stay close to me

**Author's Note:**

> UH. so [THIS PICTURE](http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b390/chitasnomiko/GAMEOFTHRONESANDIDREADIT.jpg) (isn't harry lloyd so much prettier sans terrible blond wig?) appeared on the internet, and then this happened:
> 
>  **me:** I would write it if I could ever figure out how.  
>  **molly:** how about if, instead of being crazy, viserys's dad was smart and made everyone give him their firstborn?  
>  **me:** uh, that works.
> 
> so. THIS IS THE AU IN WHICH ROBB AND VISERYS GROW UP IN KINGS LANDING TOGETHER. theon is there too. and some other people.
> 
> (one day I will continue this universe. one day.)

Viserys isn’t small, but Robb still bests him every time. At swordplay, anyway.

“You almost got me that time,” Robb says, because he’s good-natured and not kind so much as confident. He holds out a hand to help Viserys off the floor, and Viserys eyes it for a good ten seconds before sighing, and reaching up.

Robb laughs, hauling Viserys to his feet, and Viserys scowls. He’s older than Robb by two years, or nearly; Robb shouldn’t look down on him. Besides, if Rhaegar dies, Viserys will be king.

“If you had any respect, you’d let me win,” Viserys says, though he doesn’t mean it.

“The only reason I still have your favor, my prince, is that I don’t let you win,” Robb says, with a grin. He’s a little shit; Viserys really doesn’t know why he likes Robb at all.

Viserys makes a noise that just misses contempt, and picks his sword off of the stone floor. They shouldn’t be sparring inside, but it’s too hot outside to do much other than bake, and Viserys burns easier, even, than Dany. No one has used this bedchamber within Viserys memory, and though it’s not dusty, Viserys doubts that the servants will talk.

“I bore of this,” he says. Mostly he’s sweaty and Robb has beaten him three times running, but he wouldn’t ever say such a thing out loud.

“Ah,” Robb says, and leans his sword against the wall. It’s a notched, battered, ugly thing, but still Viserys covets it more than anything else. It was a gift from Lord Stark, Robb’s father – the very sword Eddard used in every battle he’d seen up to the time of Robb’s fostering. When, to hear his father tell it, they’d come the closest to a rebellion they’d been in thirty years.

“Tell me again of Winterfell,” Viserys asks, and leans his sword next to Robb’s. His blade is finely made, thin and flexible and suited to Viserys slender frame, but it gleams as if new. Viserys has never fought in a real duel, not once in nearly eighteen years.

“I’ve told you everything I remember,” Robb says, but he’s smiling. He’s pacing – he never could hold still. Viserys watches him cross the room, and turn back. “I was young when your father wrote his edict, you know.”

“I know,” Viserys says. He doesn’t even really remember it. He couldn’t have been more than six at the time. “Still.”

Robb moves like a wolf, like he’s accustomed to winning, which, with Viserys, he is. In most of the ways that matter. He stalks past the immense, empty bed, and the cluster of padded chairs, and he doesn’t talk until he is close enough to Viserys to share breath.

“It’s cold there – not like here. Real cold, the kind that never frosts the land here. It snows. The stones are old, and dark, and there is a fireplace in nearly every room. My mother – Sansa had only just seen her first birthday. We had such a feast, though I was too young to have much to do with it. She must be near thirteen, now.”

As he talks, Robb leans in, and Viserys has to concentrate not to show the way his heartbeat quickens, the way his blood stirs. It’s always like this, with Robb.

“Do you miss it?” Viserys asks, managing to keep his voice strong, even with Robb’s mouth half a finger-length from his neck.

“Why should I?” Viserys’ eyes are on the red of Robb’s hair, the curve of ear, the line of his jaw. “I haven’t seen it since I was young.”

“You’re still young,” Viserys says, and bites his lip when Robb’s mouth presses against his skin. He’s soft, no bite, just the pressure of his mouth, the wet of his saliva, and Viserys doesn’t know where to put his hands. He won’t grab hold of Robb’s hair, he won’t.

Robb moves slowly, and Viserys allows himself to tilt his head, giving access. Robb bites into the skin just before Viserys’ ear, and Viserys’ breath hitches, and he immediately curses himself. He is a prince, and Robb is – well. Robb is the heir of Winterfell, where he will someday rule.

“Have you kissed many people?” Viserys is proud of the way that his voice doesn’t shake, even though Robb is pressing his hand against Viserys’ ribcage, pushing, pushing.

Robb snorts, and his teeth dig into Viserys’ earlobe, and then his tongue soothes the hurt. “No, obviously not. Who would I be kissing, exactly? Theon? Arianne?”

“I – suppose not,” Viserys says, and then Robb kisses him on the mouth, pushing him back against the wall with the force of his body. They have only done this five, six times, but Viserys cannot imagine that he’ll tire of it.

He also cannot imagine that he’d say such a thing out loud.

Robb makes a soft noise, and Viserys closes his eyes. He wants to ask, _Will you think of me when you return to Winterfell? Will you think only of me?_ , but, of course, he never will. He’s going to make sure of it, though.


End file.
